


Red and Black

by White_Rabbits_Clock



Series: Odds and Ends [1]
Category: Black Butler, Kuroshitsuji
Genre: Character Study, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:03:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rabbits_Clock/pseuds/White_Rabbits_Clock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grell, like every other reaper, was pulled from the ranks of humans; given a second chance. Unlike every other reaper, though, Grell has red moods and black moods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seeing Red

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this out of the blue, so let me know what you think.

He was never really sure what caused it: that final straw. It's not a new feeling.

...

He doesn't remember a time when he wasn't angry at something. His father was a farmer with a mean right hook. And a mean left hook. Uppercut, too. Shit, he was just mean. There were a lot of them to feed, sometimes numbering more than the rats, and Grell was the youngest. He was the weakest, the one who couldn't pick up on the Danger Signs, and the one who got sacrificed to a drunken temper. So yeah, his father had a mean right hook.

His verbal cues were nonexistent in the world of Grell, because ear infections and that hook (and all the others) had cost him his hearing. God, it was good, though, to be in silence. It was good to not hear the pigs slopping. It was good to not hear the insults thrown at him. It also made him angry.

He would go to scrounge what could be scrounged after dues had been paid and have all he brought back taken; he ate where he wasn't seen, usually. He always did. The slow burn started beneath his skin. When he was fourteen, he up and left, making it to the city. He reasoned with himself. If he starved, he would starve trying to eat, not tamping his own hunger down for the sake of cruel people.

He didn't starve enough to die. As a pickpocket and, later, a spy, he got just enough to eat. That's also when he really started to grow. After years of thieving had turned him into a lock pick and a master at feeling people out, he was hired to be the "companion" to one of London's more... misbehaved sons. A mute one, of course. Can't let people hear that nasally voice.

As a companion, he followed that little fucker everywhere; to taverns, across the sea, to whorehouses, through gambling dens. He got in so many fights protecting the son of a bitch that rare was the night when something didn't ache. Then the man got married, and there went Grell's life.

The anger that had fueled him through those bloody years told him to make a living and get back at them all; a prison of guilt. What he had learned was the violin. Skilled fingers could pluck the strangest of tunes from the instrument; songs of anger, notes of hunger. Mesmerizing, they were.

He eventually took his skills to the circus, where he performed as the background to acrobats and freaks of nature. He eventually learned the acrobatic part himself and filed his teeth into shark's sharp points. All this and his hair eventually scored him a better part in the show than he ever expected to occupy. The anger that had been crawling under his skin felt temporarily satisfied.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS! I WELCOME YOU TO FEAST YOUR EYES ON A WILD THING STRAIGHT FROM THE AMAZON! BEARING THE SCARS OF A HUNTER AND WARRIOR: THE SCARLET ACROBAT!" He remembers the call like it was yesterday.

Years later, no one cared anymore for his acrobatic skills, and pain had taken from him his playing. That anger, which had fueled him for so long, did nothing for him the winter he took his clothing and violin and walked away. As he sat against the dirty, shit covered wall of an ally and tried to not freeze, he looked up and saw a beautiful creature. 

Lime green eyes stared at him through black rimmed glasses. Chalky white skin was highlighted by dark brown hair. In his hand: a small dagger. The creature who had captured Grell in his gaze lunged for him. The anger that had no where to go bubbled to the surface, blinding him in it's red, red haze. The man came at him, and Grell came right back.

He lost, of course; he was pushing fifty, and had gone unfed for quite some time. The creature, still so beautiful went to stab him with that knife. Grell bared his pointy shark's teeth at the fucker. His nose pulled up in a show of feral defiance that made the man stop and cock his head. The next moment, he was gone. 

Later that evening, still aching from his earlier fight and nearly dead- his coat had been stolen some time ago- Grell was too numb to be angry. he was too numb to notice being hoisted up and brought somewhere. he didn't realize he was laid back down and covered up.

He knew nothing until he woke up in a coffin, watched over by a man with silver hair.

Shortly after, he found himself young again, looking like he was twenty three instead of fifty. He was washed and full. He wore the suit of a shop owner. He grinned at himself in the mirror, shark teeth showing. It was the night before he began training as a reaper.

Then there was Will. After a long and drawn out apprenticeship, Grell began to see the weak brat of a classmate as something better. He didn't evoke anger, as so many things did, but something far more delicious: attraction. Over the years, the two of them clashed so many times that them fighting along doubled the scars on Grell's body. 

Through it all, something mean and nasty boiled up in Grell's gut like a slow-creeping disease. He began to cast about for the source. It wasn't undertaker, or any of his friends.  Then he met Sebastian, and the two fought and it was exhilarating and addicting. The blackness went away, for a while.

It isn't until now, when Ciel and Sebastian disappeared that Grell realizes what it is: Will has the same mean right hook his father had.

In a rush of tears and anger and grief, he runs to Undertaker, his eyes so drenched in red that he dare not look upon anyone's face. Undertaker says nothing, merely helps him do what he needs to do: sit and drink tea. When Grell finally feels as though he can explain what happened, his throat locks and the only phrase he can force out of his lungs is this:

"We were not meant to be immortals." _We can't escape our own misery, we don't want to control our anger. We just burn and burn until we die and I don't want that. Not for me. I was not meant to be immortal._

Undertaker, so happy all the time (just like Grell), lays a hand on top of the Red Reaper's and says simply "I know," The two of them sit together on a coffin, just being for a moment. Grell wonders what it would take to kill himself now; Undertaker's scythe?

"Grelll?"

"Hmm?"

"It's okay." It's the best thing Undertaker could have said to him.

...

He's not really sure what led him to realize why Will evoked something black in him. He just knows that every time he sees Will, he feels less like fucking him and more like cutting him from nose to navel. Or pulse to pulse. He sees red, more often than not. 

It's evening time- after both Grell and Will are off work. Grell walks out of the office building, scythe over his shoulder, Will slightly behind. The raging mood he's had since he was a little kid- a little human kid- festering quietly. Grell walks down the ridiculously wide street; the main thoroughfare of Grimm City.

As usual, he walks precisely one fifth of the way down before turning down a comfortable side street and into a small cafe. Grell is not one of those reapers who requires food for their mental health (lots of them do), but he does drink coffee and tea for the exact same reason.

The waiter just started working here; he must be that lovely young man who came in with the newest batch of recruits. He sweeps up to Grell, timid, and Grell gives the kind of smile he only reserves for the truly innocent children he sometimes has to reap. 

"Good evening! How are the two of you?" The kids got a good service face.

"Fine, and you?"

"Oh! I-"

"Order, Grell." Grell casts lime green eyes dangerously at Will.

"Do you always interrupt like this, or are your pants just in a bunch today?" For a moment, Will says nothing, wondering what the hell has gotten into Grell. His partner turns back to the waiter.

"How are you?"

"G-good, sir." Grell nods.

"Coffee, black. A pot of sugar, please. And make it strong," Grell gives the soft lip-less smile again, and the waiter scurries off with a nod and an apprehensive glance at Will. Really. Does he always have to make EVERY waiter in EVERY cafe they go to nervous as a motherfucker?

"What was that, Grell?" The reaper casts a dry gaze at him.

"When I'm talking to someone, you don't get to interrupt me just because you're impatient. No one asked you to stay. No one actually wants you here. This is my table at my cafe. If you don't like me making conversation, go ahead and leave." Will glares at him and Grell glares right back as the waiter tentatively makes his way to the table and sets down a cup and saucer of thick black coffee, a bowl of sugar, and a spoon.

"Thank you," Grell says without blinking or shifting his gaze. The waiter nods and leaves?

"I'm the senior partner in this relationship. If I want to interrupt you, I will. If I want to sit here, I will. If I want to fucking bitch about how long you take to talk to a waiter, I will. If YOU have a problem, then YOU can leave." Grell smirks at him and dumps a heap of sugar in his coffee. He waits only long enough to make sure the sugar is stirred before lifting the cup to his lips. He drinks his coffee in silence, his black mood worsening the longer he sits here.

He'll get him, though. For now, Grell simply drinks and enjoys fulfilling a mental need left over from his human days. When it's time to go, he signals the waiter, pays the check and stands. William stands to, and waits while Grell kisses the waiter's hand, ever the gentleman, when he's not in a red or a black mood.

As Grell slips out the door, his coat swinging behind him, the waiter sighs. Damn, that reaper is sexy. His partner though...

...

Grell walks quietly back to his apartment, taking the route he knows Will likes the least. As soon as he steps inside his apartment, Will slams Grell against the wall. They have been through this several times, but Grell feels his black mood descend on him, and slams his strong forehead into Will's nose, thoroughly breaking it.

Will socks Grell in the jaw and draws his scythe. Grell in a red mood is hard to deal with. This black one, though... Grell attacks will with the ferocity of a panther- and angry, insane, red furred panther. It's over in a matter of moments. As Grell's scythe is on and just inches above Will's throat, the reaper leans over it and snarls.

"Get out." Will does.

The next day, Grell switches his reaper status from Double to Single. He goes on missions on his own, based mainly around the British area. Afterwards he gets coffee and brings fresh grinds to Undertaker, who has the same need he does. They sit together, and sometimes Undertaker sews him back together. Other times, Grell helps him with his work. 

He switched apartments a while ago. He only sees Will at staff meetings. He gets promoted. He winds up Undertaker's lover. He still has red moods- a passionate state of insanity he can only come out of when he's absolutely spent. He still has black moods- the same, but on the other end of the spectrum. It's better.

The best thing though, is that the anger no longer pushes at his skin all the time. It no longer drains him when he smiles. It doesn't hurt when he laughs.

It's mostly red moods and Undertaker, promotions and coffee.

He doesn't know what made him snap to, but he's damn glad he did.


	2. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fanart for Grell Sutcliff

[ ](http://imgur.com/PLQ6RPM)


End file.
